


By Your Leave

by Renata Lord (snowlight)



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: First Dates, Flirting, Hand & Finger Kink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlight/pseuds/Renata%20Lord
Summary: The first kiss that wasn't.Alternative title: Forewarned.
Relationships: César Gaviria/Eduardo Sandoval
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. Con Permiso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the main body of the fic. It may be read as a stand-alone.

César is putting the last touches on the tofu ajiaco when the doorbell rings. He doesn’t have to glance at his watch to know that it’s exactly eight o’ clock. Having Eduardo around is useful that way. 

He wipes his hands on a towel and makes for the door. His private secretary is standing at the entrance with a bottle of wine in hand, beaming at him with the most disarming smile. 

"Good evening, Mr. Minister."

"Good evening. Did you finish the Cartagena papers?" Even as he asks, he’s already showing the man in. Eduardo brushes by him just a little too close, and César catches a whiff of the sweet-smelling cologne.

"Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?"

César allows himself a chuckle at that. He had at least three conversations with Fabio about the ambitious upstart in the department, and the first two had been less than kind. Still, he takes the wine bottle from Eduardo’s hand as the guest hangs up his coat. 

"Chilean white. You remembered." But of course, Eduardo would. The young man has a near-endemic memory when it comes to his job, and ever since the car accident two months ago, his job has been César.

For his part, César is quite certain that it had been nothing more than an accident. Even the best people make mistakes, and the driver was far worse off than he was. All he got was the slightest of concussions and a shallow gash on his head, even though from the way Eduardo looked in the hospital, one might believe that the esteemed Minister of Finance was about to become a martyr in the war against narcos. Ana, ever the pragmatist, was all too happy to entrust him to his secretary’s care. 

"Don’t say I never did anything for you," César teases as he sets the big soup bowl down at the center of the dining room table. "My grandmother’s ghost would haunt me forever if she knew I substituted the chicken in her recipe with tofu."

A blush creeps up Eduardo’s cheeks. Not for the first time, César marvels at how boyish he looks in that lanky frame, how wonderfully innocent when he is anything but. Despite those ridiculously long eyelashes, there is nothing soft about Eduardo Sandoval. 

And with that knowledge comes a warmth that curls up deep inside César’s belly, like a most pleasant burn. 

*

Between the wine and the conversation, the meal goes slow. César never hurries things when he’s entertaining his guests. Besides, it’s fun to watch Eduardo trying to play footsie. He had seen Eduardo playing football, sprinting across the grass in a sweat-soaked white jersey, so he knew the boy could move those legs. But it’s quite something else to feel them brushing up softly against his own, full of unspoken promise. 

Above the tabletop, they keep the conversation light and playful. Childhood reminiscences, usually a popular topic, doesn’t seem to draw much interest, but Eduardo’s eyes light up at the mention of their shared alma mater. 

"We don’t get too many _Uniandes_ kids in the department these days," says César, "so I was glad to see Dr. Ruiz’s recommendation letter."

"He didn’t let me see what he wrote in it!" Eduardo hurriedly swallows a mouthful of soup before bursting into laughter. "I was half-certain that he wanted to warn you about me."

César grins and quietly sips the wine. His mentor’s sealed missive had been brutally honest about Eduardo—a bright young man from a middle-class Tolima family with an extraordinary ability to focus, a meticulous planner with perfect attention to detail, and someone unwilling to accept defeat no matter what. _But César_ , the letter went on to say, _know that he has more ambition than what is generally regarded as respectable for someone from his background. Whether or not that is a good thing, of course, is entirely for you to decide._

Whatever happens, muses César, he _has_ been duly warned. 

"Now that I’ve got the job, though," Eduardo puts the spoon down and wipes his mouth delicately, "I have a confession to make."

César smiles magnanimously. He’s all for hearing confessions from gorgeous young men with bottomless blue eyes. 

"That run-in I had with you before my first-round interview. I knew full well I was talking to Dr. César Gaviria Trujillo, the man slated to become the next Minister of Finance."

César arches an eyebrow. He has suspected that from the start, but he never imagined that Eduardo would admit it so candidly. 

"A week after Lara died, you came to campus to give a talk about the importance of protecting those who were willing to stand up to the narcos."

Lara’s assassination had happened while César was President of the Chamber of Representatives, and the political fallout was ugly as anything. He remembers throngs of student protesters surrounding his car, young faces shining with righteous anger and pure conviction. Was Eduardo one of them?

"There were so many of you," he pushes the memories away and looks at Eduardo, "I’m impressed that you managed to catch a glimpse of my face behind all those banners."

"I didn’t. But then I went to the auditorium and actually listened to your speech."

"What did you think?" César asks, genuinely curious. 

Eduardo thinks for a second before breaking into a radiant smile. 

"I’m sorry, but I don’t remember. I was too...distracted."

*

There is nothing distracted about the way Eduardo is now kissing his jaw. Eduardo nibbles and licks, slow but full of intent, dragging every moment out into a tease and it’s working. César closes his eyes and shifts a little on the sofa. He runs his fingers through Eduardo’s headful of curls, strangely aware of the wet kissing mark on the back of his hand.

When he was reaching over to take away Eduardo’s dessert plate, Eduardo had grabbed his right hand without asking, and César certainly wasn’t going to protest. He was prepared for a firm tug and a gentle fall, but Eduardo raised the hand to his lips, held it there for a moment, and kissed it like it was the cross. 

"By your leave..." the young man had murmured. And César, transfixed, could only say yes with his eyes.

Eduardo’s hands are driving him mad. With his shirt still in the way, every touch is frustratingly evasive, leaving his skin thirsting for contact like he’s going to burst out from his own body. He tries to grind up into Eduardo, but the space is too tight for him to get any real friction. Eduardo may look slender but there is muscle beneath that ill-fitting suit, and César is caught immobile between his mouth and his arms. 

He should be alarmed, instead he’s just aroused.

"Let me kiss you," he blurts out.

Eduardo looks up at him, glassy eyes almost out of focus.

"Wait," says Eduardo. And then, with some effort: " _please_."

He takes César’s right hand again, kissing first the back, then the palm, and finally the inner wrist. There is a careful finality in the gesture, as if his soft lips are a branding iron.

" _Please_ ," he whispers again as he closes his eyes and guides two of César’s fingers into his mouth. 

At least this time it’s not maddeningly slow. It looks like Eduardo is trying to stay quiet, but every little sound that escapes is simply obscene. He flicks his tongue and swirls it around César’s fingertips, more caress than tease, as if the very axis of his world rests on it. 

César sucks in his breath because fuck, he isn’t a teenager anymore; but his hormones clearly haven’t gotten the memo, because sheer want spikes inside his body along with the adrenaline rush, leaving him lightheaded and weak in the knees.

By the time Eduardo stops, both of them are panting, yet Eduardo doesn’t draw any closer. For a moment, César can read nothing on his face.

"Eduardo?"

Eduardo looks at him again, still a little dazed. His mouth is slightly open, and there are a thousand things that César wants to do to it. But first things first, thinks César, as he leans in for a kiss.


	2. coda.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a small part of a huge AU plot bunny...in which Eduardo is suffering emotional trauma and cannot bring himself to have actual sex with Cesar or, for that matter, kiss Cesar properly.
> 
> So...somehow sexytimes turns into hurt/comfort.

He has no idea when did it all go wrong. One minute he was getting a bona fide finger blow job, and the next, as soon as their lips touched, Eduardo shot up from the sofa and bolted to the bathroom like his life depended on it. 

It can't be his kissing skills. He has been kissing men since the age of seventeen and all of them loved the wonderful things he could do with his tongue. To add insult to injury, he didn't even get to that part.

Once he got over the shock, César got up and stared at himself in the living room mirror—no, there were no hideous warts that appeared on his lips by black magic.

Judging from the sound of vomiting coming from the bathroom, the culprit is most likely the soup. But then again, none of his lovers has ever complained. Every single ingredient is fresh from the weekend market, and apart from this utter confusion, he feels right as rain. 

The sound of intermittent retching seems to go on forever. César tiptoes to the bathroom's entrance and presses an ear against the door. In-between bouts of heaving, he can hear Eduardo sniffling and mumbling curses. It's perhaps impolite to intrude in a moment of extreme distress, but his concern for the man wins out in the end.

"Eduardo?" he pauses, "Is there anything I do for you?"

There is the sound of a toilet flush.

"I'm—I'm all right."

The voice is hoarse. Eduardo has turned on the water faucet to the max.

Running water doesn't drown out the sound of misery, not with César standing right by the other side of the door. He gingerly tries the doorknob and finds that it doesn't budge.

César glances at his watch. It's shouldn't be too late in the evening to call his private physician yet.

The phone consultation goes brief.

"If there's blood in his vomit, get him to an emergency room," says the doctor, "or if this has happened more than once for no apparent reason. But from what you told me, I bet it's just something he ate before he came to your place."

"He won't let me into the bathroom," says César a little sheepishly, "and I don't know if he'd tell me the truth about this—or, for that matter, stay here like you advised."

"Use your powers of persuasion. They are not inconsiderable."

César winces. He has no faith whatsoever in his powers of persuasion right now.

*

The water stops running and César hangs up in a hurry. It takes another minute or two for Eduardo to emerge from the hallway. He must have dried his face, but his hair is still partly wet and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he's running on empty, a ghost of the young man who had kissed César's hand with such fervor not so long ago. 

"I am—" he looks just as bewildered as César is. "I am terribly sorry. I…"

César inches closer. "I'm just worried about you, that's all. Was there blood?"

Eduardo appears sufficiently shocked as he shakes his head. 

"Is this the first time this has happened?" 

"Ye—yes. I don't know how…" Eduardo's voice quavers and César wonders if he is about to burst into tears. "I'm so sorry for ruining your evening. I'm sorry. For everything. I'll just go now…"

César ignores the tightness in his chest and uses his minister's voice: "You are not going anywhere. Doctor's orders. I called mine and he told me to keep you here overnight." 

"But I…" Eduardo starts to protest but trails off when he sees the look on César's face. "I can't. I've caused enough troubles for you already," he finishes wretchedly as he slumps down on a chair, head in his hands. César walks over and pats him lightly on the head. The young man shivers under his palm like a wet, injured bird.

"Unless you clogged up my toilet, there's no trouble at all." The joke falls flat, but César isn't deterred. "I wouldn't trust you to ride a bike right now, let alone a motorcycle. But lucky for you, I have a perfectly serviceable guest bedroom."

Eduardo finally raises his head up. César has only seen him this frightened only once before, when Eduardo pulled him out of the smoldering car wreck two months ago. _You silly boy_ , he wanted to say back then and he wants to say the same words now, _why do you look like you're about to cry?_ But tenderness surges within him. He can't fight it and doesn't want to. 

"Shhh," he cradles Eduardo's head and holds him with careful gentleness. "It's going to be okay."

He repeats it to himself, "it's going to be okay."

**Author's Note:**

> For what it's worth, the AU does have an happy ending! :)


End file.
